Branwen Noir: Candle-lit Raider
by LokDShad
Summary: Life has its twist and turns. Everyone knows that. One of those people is Qrow Branwen, now a private detective in a much gritier world than it was before the Great War. What kind of surprises life has in bag for him on the year of 1933? Only his god forsakken luck would tell. (Noir Mystery AU)


Some people are kin to believe in the statement that the New Year brought changes. Whether it meant the start of wealth, the blooming of new love waiting to be preached on the upcoming month of February, or even a clean slate to start a life anew as if a little change on the numbers marked on the calendar would wash away their past; that belief was deeply settled within the folks all around the world.

In the coastal city of Vale, - an ever-growing ink blotch on the maps from the Eastern Coast -, many citizens openly welcomed the morning breeze entertaining it to be a wind of change. Following this gentle breath of air that snaked its way through the labyrinth of concrete, brick and iron that comprised the streets and alleys that made up the city´s landscape. Gently rustling the leaves on the bushes and trees that dotted the sidewalks and gardens; or rocking the hooks and cables of the cargo cranes down in the docks, as if cradling them to sleep after a hard night of unloading countless containers.

However, this gentle breeze wasn't the only one to come and greet the denizens of Vale on this fine morning. As if on a friendly race, no sooner had the wind grazed the city with its presence, the first traces of the sunlight shone over the horizon, slowly but surely bathing the landscape in warmth and bright light.

As the sun rays breached the lingering shadows from last night, one of them, compelled to disperse those last traces of darkness, slipped through the hastily closed blinds that were found covering a window. The light pierced through the room, the once obscured succumbing to the glory of the morning. With the Sun steadily escalating the celestial vault to claim its place on the blue sky, the light gained a new angle that allowed it to shine over a figure previously hidden to it. The Sun's loving embrace sharing the warmth to let the man that it reached come to a gentle waking.

\- "Son of a bitch couldn´t wait to go and shine, huh?"-

Or not.

The man twisted and turned over the leather couch it had taken to rest on the previous night. Trying and failing miserably to shy away from the light. For others, this waking would have signaled the coming of a good year filled with blessings; however, on his hungover state the heat on his face was unbearable, the light cast over his eyelids a headache waiting to happen.

How did someone managed to get drunk enough for a hungover to happen during the Dry Law? It was a mystery best left unanswered, unless of course, you wanted problems with the law… or some idjit to hog over the booze before you could manage to get your fair share. Qrow Branwen, -the same man that was now wriggling in place to try and avoid the morning light-, knew this very well, being the later. Although, the decision to down his last bottle of home-made rum to the last drop on yesterday´s night was quickly becoming a much regretted one.

His mind still quite cloudy from the alcohol induced stupor tried to come up with solutions for the current predicament. Crawling slowly to the bath tub could do the trick. Perhaps rolling over the couch to fall and hide under the somewhat large coffee table? To heck with it, the good ol´ cushion over the face would do it.

However, as his luck would have it, -much to his chagrin-, heavy knocking on the entrance door caught him by surprise as his hand was about to take hold of the so much needed cushion. While the sudden loud noise halted his plan, it drove him to kind of accomplish one of his ideas, hitting the wooden floor flat on his side as he fell from the couch.

\- "Good morning, Mr. Branwen! I came to collect the rent!"-. A booming voice followed soon after the knocking. Despite the ringing in his ears, Qrow was able to understand it and acknowledge who it belonged to.

\- "On it! Just a moment, Mr. Port!"- The man grimaced as his words seemed to rekindle the fire that was burning on his throat. In response, came the words "Take your time, young lad" from the other side of the door. It always amused Qrow how his landlord called him young, as if there was anything juvenile on himself. Maybe It had to do with the senility that seemed to be taking over Mr. Port as his age advanced. What with all the whimsical stories he tends to tell to those willing enough to hear them, or just in need of a quick nap. Qrow could swear that each one old man Peter would come up with was more crazed than the last. There was even a time he claimed to have defeated an Apache with nothing but a spoon, of course, it was all non-sense chatter from a senile man, right?

Anyway, none of this was his concern right now. The first order of the day was not to look as he had been drinking all night, which he did. He might have been on good terms with the man, and Mr. Port seemed to have a liking to him, but he didn't put it past him to call on the authorities at the slightest sign of him being drunk. He was too much of a goodie not to do it. Working out the wrinkles on his shirt, buttoning up and tucking it on his trousers as fast as he could almost made him tumble and fall once more. Righting himself, he combed back his hair a little using his fingers. And having tamed as many stray locks as he could, snatched a manila-colored envelope from his coffee table, bolting to the door as soon as he had a good grasp of it.

\- "Morning, Mr. Port! Here's the money, on time as every first of the month."- This were the words he spoke after clumsily dealing with the lock on the doorknob and hastily opening the door, delivered with an unnatural cheery tone and not-so-sincere smile plastered on his face.

\- "As always, son! Detective business must be rewarding, huh?"- The landlord somehow missed Branwen's ill-acting, answering in a happy manner, other details weren't missed, however. – "Oh, Qrow. You sound unusually groggy this morning, and- ", the round man closed in a little and took a sniff out the air near Branwen, "is it alcohol what it smells off in here?"-

More out of panic than wits came the excuse.

\- "Well…", Qrow fake-coughed into his hand, "you see, I worked late night during past week and caught a strong cold."-

\- "That explains the grogginess, but what about the scent of booze?"- His landlord wasn't quite believing it.

\- "It's a remedy I got from… a boticary! That's it, some medicine, no booze in here. I could never, no." The nervous chuckles seemed to say otherwise. Peter gave him a long stare while pondering if to believe the lie or not.

\- "Ha! Those remedies are no good I tell you, nothing my mother, in the Lord's grace she may rest, couldn't do better. Also, you might want to have a mint or two, don't want the folks in blue to get the wrong idea, eh?"- Yes, he was most definitely senile, that was the only answer as to how the man accepted his lie that made any sense. He just rolled with this unexpected stroke of good luck.

\- "Could one of those remedies be a cup of black coffee? I could use one right now, and I have no more left. Sure, if it isn't much to ask…" Peter just laughed, unaware of how much torment it brought to his tenant, and gave a gently pat on Qrow's shoulder.

\- "If my memory doesn't fail me, it wasn't on the list. But you seem to need it, and luckily for you, I have some brewed in my kitchen. You are more than welcome to join me for a good steaming cup downstairs, son."- Qrow was grateful for that and muttered a gentle thanks to the man in front of him, not having quite recovered from his landlord's loud display of kindness. Not a moment later, he pulled the door closed and followed the jolly old man down the flight of stairs. Maybe, just maybe this year would be fonder of him. After all, this has been far from the worst start of the calendar he ever had. It was actually quite decent, in fact, he would say it was a good start.

Yes, 1933 was going to be his year, maybe it wasn't foolish at all to say "New year, new start"

\- "Oh, almost forgot! I got a call from the police station earlier, seems like Chief Ironwood wants to have a word with you, and to take care of some 'businesses at the station as well."- And suddenly it wasn't his year anymore. Indeed, he needed that coffee.

* * *

Thanks to the bitter glory that was coffee, surviving the newest narration from Peter, - that seemed to be a tall tale of him fist-fighting with Mexican general, Francisco Villa-, a couple mints and a generous amount of cologne to mask the reeking smell of booze; Qrow Branwen was ready to tackle down the migraine that would undoubtedly arrive with whatever awaited at Ironwood's office.

Sporting a white dress shirt, charcoal black waistcoat and trousers, dark leather moccasins, and an oxford gray overcoat to finish the assemble, Qrow was unhappily making his way towards the station, dreading every second the daylight made his head throb.

\- "This better not be another goddam parking ticket incident. I don't even have a goddam car!"- He muttered with a hint of anger, remembering a time when his name had somehow made it to a parking ticket report and one of the clerks at transit had been hunting him for it. Good memories.

Finally reaching the station, he crossed the doors and allowed himself inside the building. About halfway to the reception desk, did the reason for him to be there this fine morning made itself known. In a loud and clear fashion.

\- "Five dollars that I could beat you good, copper!"- Came the voice from a too well-known voice of a certain lady. And if they hadn't made a renovation lately, the shout came from all the way to the cells located inside the station. So much for his good start of the year.

\- "Ah, Mr. Branwen. I take it you found out what they called you for?"- Asked the receptionist in a cheeky tone, a sly grin on her face as she watched him from the counter. Savoring the distress in his eyes.

\- "Nice to see you too, Evelyn."- He replied not an ounce amused by her remark. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go for the demon I have for a niece." And so, he made his way towards the place his niece seemed to have on hold just for her.

A couple corridors and turns later, he found the cell where the blonde menace was being contained. Or at least partially contained, her taunts escaping he confinement just to torment whatever poor soul that was tasked with guarding her.

Qrow could only rub his temple as he caught sight of her, blowing kisses into the air towards the officer and batting her eyelashes in what she thought was a cute way.

\- "What about a couple kisses for you to open this cage before my uncle… "- She started with her new tactic to try and get out of the place, and to the guard's relief, her uncle dearest was having none of it.

\- "Before I do what, Yang?"- Her startled cry managed to place a smirk on his lips. And seemingly, a good chuckle to whoever was the man behind him at the moment.

\- "She takes after her father, doesn't she?"- The voice was that of James Ironwood, Chief of the Vale's Police Department, veteran of the Great War, and the man who had called upon him. Branwen couldn't do anything but nod in agreement.

\- "Yes. Yes, she does, Jimmy. You have no idea how much I wish she didn't."- After a fake offended gasp from Yang Xiao Long, all around troublemaker and blonde bombshell, he continued. - "But you didn't need to call me so early, I think she could use a couple hours more in here."-, a "Hey!" was issued in complaint to this, - "After all, what did she do this time? Busting into another clandestine fighting club?" Ironwood negated with his head.

\- "Not this time, more along the lines of disturbance of the order by punching some sailors at the docks…"- Her uncle grimaced at the nervous laughter that escaped her and the prospect of the bail he'd have to pay this time. – "However, she just presented me with an opportunity to bring you here. There's a matter I wish to discuss with you in my office, if you may."- Even if barely sober, Qrow could fathom that there was no room to argue there, and he complied following the stern man to his office.

\- "Uncle, wait! Qrow! Please, I haven't had breakfast yet!"- She tried to catch the attention of her grim looking relative to no avail, slumping once more to one of the benches inside the cell. She sighed and turned to look at the guard again. – "You wouldn't happen to have some eggs and bacon, do you?"- The man only grumbled in annoyance.

* * *

Before him, stood a man with an imposing aura around him. His posture gave off that impression of a man that was no push-over, the greying hair at his side did nothing but accentuate that air of respect and strength that the man seemed to exude. James Ironwood was a man of measured words, despite his natural talent for politics he preferred actions. Proof of this was his military career during the Great War, many had been witnesses to his actions on the French countryside, and who ever dared and doubt them were quickly silenced by the prosthetic arm now attached to his right shoulder, a memento of a man that gave his all for what he believed was right. This same sense of justice didn't allow him to simply accept his forced retire from the frontlines, using his grand charisma and way with words, landing a couple favors from the right people was no problem. He soon found himself at Vale's Police Department, and small time after that, the Chief's office door sported his name on a golden plaque.

\- "You might be wondering why I asked for you to come" – the former soldier started his speech, the stoic expression on his features making it clear that he wasn't expecting any sort of answer. – "You see, in the past weeks there's been a string of robberies to many shops across Vale…"-

\- "The usual, then."- Being a detective himself, he was well aware that if it were the common robberies there was no need for him. It wouldn't be anything the chumps at the station couldn't handle themselves. Of course, still dealing with the hungover and a headache named Yang, he couldn't care less about pointing out the obvious just so the chief would cut straight to the chase.

This took a chuckle out of the veteran, nodding in acknowledgement of what the man front of him wanted.

\- "It appears so, yes. But further investigation of the cases pointed towards some quite unusual circumstances…"- As on cue, an ochre folder, filled with photographs and reports, materialized from some place in the drawer of James' desk and came to rest at Qrow's lap after a short-lived flight.

Picking it up, and starting to skim through the files contained within, a certain pattern started to become clear. An odd one at that. All the shops were antiquities bazaars, and while it was odd to specifically target those in particular, it made sense in that some of those dusty old trinkets sometimes were worth more than the car next door.

No. What made these felonies stand out as not only odd, but bizarre was what was stolen.

Oil lamps.

No cash taken out the register, no Fabergé that belonged to good ol' Nick before the reds got him, not even an ancient relic from the time of Gods or something of the caliber. Just oil lamps, plain old oil lamps. Didn't matter if they were made out of tin, copper or gold, neither did it if they were all the way from the times of the roman legions or just a couple decades ago. All they ever took in every single one of the assaults were the oil lamps.

\- "Not to be a bummer, but whoever is stealing all the lamps seems to be unaware of the invention of the lightbulbs."- It was odd, almost pointless. Those things had been sitting at any antiquary because no one wanted them. And suddenly someone decides that they need them all. To say that he was puzzled was an understatement. He was downright confused, at this. Ironwood seemed to share the sentiment.

\- "Not only that, our lamp fanatic seems to have taken it up a notch and going as far as to try forcing their way into the History Museum at night. The Director just filled a report this morning on how someone had activated the alarm at the windows near the "New World Expedition" exhibit. And guess what was near those windows?"-

\- "The oil lamps from the Mayflower or whatever was the goddam ship, I guess" –

Ironwood only nodded at this.

Whatever this case was, it had piqued his interest. And as they say, curiosity killed the cat.

* * *

 **AN: Hello and welcome to my attempt at writing once more. Feel welcome to write reviews, I apologize towards any mistake in grammar as english is my second language. Update schedule will be irregular, having me write this between breaks at job or the occasional free time I get. Anyway, hope you enjoyed reading this first chapter as much I did writing it. I have an idea of where I want to take this into the future, and hopefully, I'll make it. Until next time.**


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